


The Cat

by claireweasley (dul_cin_ea)



Category: 21 Jump Street (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dul_cin_ea/pseuds/claireweasley
Summary: ‘I’m telling you, that cat had something to do with this,’
Relationships: Tom Hanson/Doug Penhall
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	The Cat

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on livejournal on 24th Feb 2005, and has been exported from there, so apologies for the (undoubtedly numerous) extremely old errors.
> 
> Written for [ LJ User: angstslashhope ], [ LJ User: loose your dogs ] and[ LJ User: monkeycrackmary ].

‘This is just great Doug. Fantastic! Another stellar move by Oﬃcer Penhall folks!’ 

Tom is kneading his jaw relentlessly.

Doug’s head is moving somewhere down near his thigh.

‘Alright already Hanson,’ comes the somewhat exasperated reply. ‘Can you chill for just a minute so I can ﬁgure out a way to get us out of these things?’

Tom is annoyed. Deﬁnitely. Majorly annoyed. Super annoyed even. On a scale of annoyance he is a ten point ﬁve. And okay, he isn’t quite verging into attempting forms of physical abuse yet, but he is rapidly getting there.

‘Hmm, Yeah. Right. Uh-huh,’ Tom snits, the aﬃrmations spewing out over his lips without any real purpose. He crosses one arm across his chest. ‘And I don’t know, you couldn’t have thought of any of this before you put the handcuﬀs on? I mean really, nice play Shakespeare’

Doug doesn’t answer immediately, but shuﬄes around on the ﬂoor, scratching under the cupboard a bit, and sending plumes of heavy dust up at Tom’s face. Tom squinches his eyes shut, and counts backwards from one hundred, trying to ward oﬀ the increasing irritation. He has allergies, after all. His nose is beginning to tickle faintly. The oﬀending steel cuﬀ is pressed awkwardly into his wrist.

The counting doesn’t seem to be working, so Tom looks pained some more, and hopes Doug will notice. It’s a Friday night for crikesakes. All he really wants to do is to get home to his nice big couch, pop open a bud light, and watch some re-runs of Laverne and Shirley. Is that too much to ask?

In a world that involves Doug Penhall, apparently it is.

‘Hah!’ Doug says ﬁnally, stretching forward so that Tom is thrown oﬀ balance. ‘He-ere kitty, kitty’

Doug leans forward a little more, with a tug. Tom is crouching expectantly beside him. There is a moment of clear, absolute silence before the entirely too loud yowl permeates it. Followed very quickly by a torrent of lint, a hissing ginger cat shaped blur streaking across the chapel, and Doug letting out an eerily similar yowling noise among a cavalcade of cuss words that make Tom’s ears turn red.

‘That went well’ Tom states, wondering if it’s possible to burst a blood vessel in your brain from being annoyed.

Doug sits back, and prods the oozing red claw marks on his arms (that secretly make Tom feel a little better) with his ﬁnger, in a sort of adolescent curiosity. Naturally, this causes more blood to blossom from the welts, and Tom can’t help himself, swatting his hand away. Doug looks back at him, a vaguely petulant expression causing his mouth to turn downward.

‘It’s not my fault that the only cat in city who swallows steel keys turned up in our oﬃce today,’ he mumbles bitterly.

‘Yeah well, it’s not my fault I have the only partner in the city who thinks it would be a good idea to put me in handcuﬀs, and yet here I am! In handcuﬀs! Attached to your arm! With no key!’

Tom is glaring now, and Doug looks somewhat remorseful. He reminds Tom a bit of this gorilla he saw at a zoo once that accidentally trod in its own shit bucket. Doug holds his hands up in an expression of peace, which makes Tom’s attached arm jerk up involuntarily.

He glares harder.

‘Okay Hanson, I’m sorry! Don’t give yourself a heart attack, okay? Hoﬀs said you had a bad day over at Jeﬀerson, and I was trying to take your mind oﬀ’ Doug sort of bumbles through his words, and Tom thinks that if he isn’t part ape, he must be at least related to one. ‘It was supposed to be humorous’

Tom’s glare falters and he blinks slowly a few times. Okay, so maybe Doug intentions had been well meant. Especially because it was true that he’d had a bad day a Jeﬀerson, as it was also true that Hoﬀ’s was sick and hadn’t been in the oﬃce, so that meant Doug had noticed his bad day all by himself, and was too proud to say so.

Doug always noticed things like that about him. Details. He was a good cop. A great partner to have around, some might say. Though at the moment it probably wouldn’t be Tom who was saying that. At least not out loud. But he’d been trying to cheer him up and that had to count for something. Even if it wouldn’t unlock the damn handcuﬀs currently twining them together at the wrist. Tom softens anyway, and nudges Doug playfully with his elbow.

‘I appreciate the sentiment Penhall, but next time, how about oﬀering me a beer?’

Doug grins at him. Tom makes a noise in the top of his nose like he’s laughing but can’t quite get it out entirely.

‘Okey dokey’ Doug says, dragging him toward the exit. ‘Let’s ﬁnd a way out of these things, shall we?’

When the nail and hammer doesn’t work, Tom shrugs, disappointed. When the hand saw doesn’t work, Tom bites his lip, and is slightly more disappointed.

When the electric circular saw, sander, blow torch, and locksmith don’t work Tom is too confused to be disappointed. He’s grinding his teeth so hard he thinks the buildup of pressure might make his eyeballs explode.

‘Damn, Sam!’ Doug exclaims at him, waggling their handcuﬀed wrists in his face, rather unnecessarily Tom thinks. ‘Look at these things, there’s not even a scratch on them! How in the hell is this even possible?’

Tom whimpers. He’s cold and grumpy. ‘It’s not my fault, I don’t even have a cat’

They are sitting on dew freckled lawn, in Tom’s backyard, just outside the garage. Discarded tools are scattered about. One cracked light bulb next to the tool bench spills it’s half-hearted broken beams of light out over them. Doug looks less like a gorilla in the half shadow, and more like a ball of half-baked dough, all shapes and bumps. Tom sighs and leans his weight against the other man’s shoulder. He’s warm in the cold air, but jerking around too much for Tom to actually absorb any of it.

‘It’s nobody’s cat! I’m telling you, that cat had something to do with this,’ Doug says squintily.

‘We must have cheesed oﬀ some gange-smoking witch bat caver somewhere, and they’ve put a curse on these handcuﬀs. And the cat... the cat is-’

‘A mutant alien from Uranus?’ Tom suggests, chuckling. He considers the fact that he might be slightly delirious. Or maybe they both are. It’s been a long night.

‘Yeah, yeah. You’re so funny I forgot to laugh’ Doug eye rolls back. ‘Can you think of a better explanation Hanson?’

‘Maybe these are a new kind of handcuﬀs. Really strong ones’ Tom suggests feebly. It could be true, though he can’t think why Fuller wouldn’t have at least told them. Then again, Fuller probably didn’t think two of his best cops would be stupid enough to end up handcuﬀed to each other. ‘Maybe we should ask Iokage?’

‘Maybe...’ Doug replies. His arm presses against Tom’s like a drawn out pulse as he heaves a sigh. It’s obvious he’s not altogether keen on the idea. After the near constant hysterical high pitched laughing from the Locksmith, Tom can’t ﬁnd much cause to blame him.

But that’s okay, because he’s had an idea. Tom’s eyes light up suddenly. It is worth a try.

‘What if all these handcuﬀs need is a bit of force you know?’ Tom says ‘Like, say if you run one way, and I run the other way, and we hold on to our cuﬀs really tightly?’

Doug has a face on that looks like he thinks this is an even worse idea than that of the magic cat, but he shrugs.

‘I’m up for it, if you are’ he replies.

Tom smiles ambitiously ‘I’m always up for it, Dougie’

Four seconds or so later, no one is up at all. Tom can very suddenly see the ﬂaws in his idea as clearly as he can see his and Doug’s splayed limbs. His face is nuzzled somewhere between the other man’s shoulder blades, and there is a hot spitting pain running up and down his cuﬀed arm. Underneath him Doug mumbles something incoherent.

‘You okay buddy?’ Tom asks tentatively.

Doug groans. ‘I will be once you get oﬀ of me.’

As Tom shuﬄes oﬀ his partner, he gasps loudly. But it is not from pain. (Well, not entirely) The oﬀending ginger cat that swallowed the key, is sitting perched next to them, watching them with eyes that look like glowing marbles. Not in a funny way either. It’s completely creepy, and Tom recoils against Doug, making a noise that some people might call a squeal. But it is actually much more manly than that.

Doug seems less weirded out by the cat, and instead points accusingly at it with his gigantic ﬁnger. Tom’s arm goes with his of course, and he lets his wrist go limp. He doesn’t point. He doesn’t want some freaky cat with marble eyes oﬀside.

‘You!’ Doug says ‘You did this!’

The cat nods, once, very slowly, and licks its paw. Tom squeals again, burying his face in Doug’s armpit.

‘Well?’ Doug says, his voice now very loud and slightly vibrating ‘How do we get out of these things? What do we have to do? Can you help us?!’

‘Kiss,’ says the cat.

There is a long silence. Tom opens one eye.

‘Kiss!’ says the cat again ‘Kisskisskiss!’

Tom sits up again, and he and Doug exchange a look that says very clearly that this cat is two bullets short of a loaded gun, and they ought to run away very quickly. And possibly even set the darned thing on ﬁre. Tom takes a deep breath, and avoids eye contact with the beast ‘Er, Mister, or Missus Cat? I don’t thin-’

‘Wait,’ Doug interrupts suddenly. ‘Why don’t we just do it?’

Tom’s eyebrows ﬂy to the top of his hairline like furry rubber bands.

‘What? Penhall, are you OUT OF YOUR MIND?’ he asks, slightly breathless and his voice suddenly very high pitched.

Had he misinterpreted his look? Or perhaps the cat was working some sort of psychological mind voodoo on Penhall. Then again, if that was the case, how come Doug looked so awkward and ﬂushed, and slightly nice looking in this light?

He blinks, did he say that out loud? If he had, it doesn’t seem to matter now because Penhall is leaning over him and talking in a low, stern voice. ‘Look Hanson, it’s no big deal. We’ll just do it, make it look good, and then this will all be done with, alright?’

Tom knows he ought to answer, but he can’t really stop thinking about how Doug’s knee is pressed heavily against his inner thigh. So he just nods dumbly, and then his eyes ﬂutter shut, and then there are very rough, warm, wet lips closing over his. And a nose banging against his. And maybe he tastes a little bit like chocolate and teeth, and maybe Tom’s free hand accidentally goes to the back of Doug’s neck and pulls him closer. And maybe Doug is making that noise because of the things Tom is doing with his mouth. But he can’t really tell for sure because all the blood has drained out of his head.

Doug pulls away suddenly, and Tom freezes because he suddenly remembers where he is, and that there’s some kind of pervert cat watching them. His lips are very cold, and he wipes them with the back of his sleeve.

The cat seems to be staring at them in surprise. One eye open slightly wider than the other.

‘Well?’ Doug says ‘We did what you asked. So hand over the key.’

The cat coughs twice, and a saliva covered key lands on the lawn. Doug reaches, but the cat puts a paw over it before he can even get close.

‘You stupid idiots’ The cat spits, startling Tom into another yelp. ‘I didn’t say kiss, I said hiss. I was hissing for dramatic eﬀect! Hiss! HissHISSHisss? I’m a fucking cat, schmoes! That’s what we do!’

‘But you said...’ Doug starts.

‘When I’ve got the key in my mouth it impedes my speech, okay?’ The cat says, looking suddenly self-conscious ‘The hissing was the introduction. All you had to do to get the key was scratch behind my ear, not make out like a couple of randy schoolkids.’

‘Oh,’ Tom says. ‘Well that does make more sense, in a way. I guess.’

‘Yeah...’ Doug nods. But he’s looking at Tom now, not at the cat. He’s looking at Tom in a way that makes Tom’s stomach make tiny little ripples that spread outwards. And in a way that makes him forget about getting the key or the handcuﬀs and only really think about leaning against Doug again, and touching him a bit, and maybe getting those pants oﬀ and then maybe some sleep.

Sleep.

Tom eyes open slowly, and he yawns, nuzzling his face against Doug’s chest. There is a cough, and he freezes, and turns his head. It’s broad daylight and this time it’s not a cat staring at him. It’s Captain Fuller.

‘Fuller?!’ Tom sits up abruptly, confused, his head throbbing and fuzzy. ‘What in. Jesus. Where’s the cat? The...cat that... talks?’

He rubs at his eyes a few times. Things are beginning to become clearer. Doug is stirring beside him. And Hoﬀs and Ioki are in the oﬃce too, standing behind Fuller. Trying to hide their grins behind less than subtly placed hands. There is an orange on the desk with a smiley face drawn on it (badly) and when Doug sits up next to him, equally confused, he lifts his arm to ﬁnd it has been attached to Tom’s with layers of masking tape. Doug and Tom look at each other, mortiﬁed, and then immediately away again.

Fuller walks toward them, the corners of his lips turned upward in a wry smile.

‘Seeing as you boys found it necessary to eat the entire container of brownies my son left behind, it’d be a nice gesture if you wrote him to tell him how much you liked them, okay?’

‘Yes, Captain Fuller,’ Tom and Doug reply, heads bowed.

‘And another thing,’ the older man continues, ‘Before you leave my oﬃce, you might want to put on some pants. I believe at least one pair is caught in the paper shredder’


End file.
